


The Impossible Woman

by dismalzelenka



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Sex, porn with a little plot, turian/human sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 07:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13429725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka
Summary: The morning before they declare their vows in front of a Palaven civil court, Garrus reflects on the love of his life - her strength, her beauty, her tenacity, the life they were about to embark upon together - and marvels at the sheer impossibility of what they have managed to accomplish. Absolutely shameless Garrus Worships Shepard's Existence And Then They Have Sex. Prequel to Civil Exchanges.





	The Impossible Woman

He had almost forgotten what morning felt like. The day's first glimmer of sunlight - real Palaven sunlight - peeked through a gap in the heavy, dark green curtains, casting angular shadows of the room on the opposite wall. He still didn't quite understand the concept of curtains, he mused, or why humans insisted on their apparent aesthetic charm over the simple, utilitarian shutters that adorned most turian architecture, but Solana had insisted on having them installed for the duration of their visit. "If I'm going to bring my brother's human into my house, I'm damn well going to make sure she doesn't hate it here," she had declared, and who was he to argue?

Tessa was still asleep next to him, chest rising and falling rhythmically into the pillow she cradled. The thin white sheets were only barely pulled up to her bare shoulders, outlining the gentle curvature of her body underneath. Sunlight fell across her face and illuminated all of the subtle shades of red in her hair, giving it an almost shimmery appearance in the early morning glow. Faint traces of residual cybernetic scarring still criss-crossed her pale cheeks, but sleep had a funny way of erasing the lines of worry from her eyes. Spirits, she was beautiful.

He remembered when he first told his sister about her. Solana was utterly convinced he had finally lost his mind completely. "Garrus, we have scandalized relatives who _still_ remind me about that time you brought home a girl from Gemmae who wore offworld colony colors. And that one was at least the same _species_. A human? Are you insane? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

It was definitely a question that had frequently crossed his mind in the earlier days of his involvement with Tessa. His initial attraction to her had been somewhat confusing, given that for a long time he had trouble putting his finger on what it was exactly that he found so alluring about her. Physical traits had been difficult to pinpoint at first, given the massive difference in physiology between them.

It had started with the little things: the way her hands moved when she stripped and reassembled her weapons, fingers nimbly snapping pieces into place with such practiced ease she could practically do it blindfolded; the way she could put him to shame with that rifle of hers like no one else alive could; and the way her green eyes blazed with fire when she set her mind to do something anyone else would have called utterly impossible. How she never seemed to break under pressure, the way she would defiantly stand her ground in that infuriatingly stubborn way of hers when she believed she was right about something – he loved these things about her, but even so, he would have never realized the extent of his feelings for her if she hadn't one day boldly proposed a casual intimate encounter with him. He could still picture the way she had had looked at him that day, that scandalous grin plastered on her face making his mind go places he would never have dared go before.

It wouldn't mean anything, she had claimed initially. It would only have been a way for them to clear their heads a bit, a way to be daring and adventurous and do something fun between friends for once to relieve the tension of an upcoming mission that many on board believed would be their last. And perhaps at one point she may have actually meant that. Perhaps at one point, he may have actually believed it.

And then, the more he thought about it, the less casual it became to him, and it terrified him. He had always carried a somewhat hesitant view toward romantic relationships; in his line of work, they were more aptly called liabilities. He had already learned that the hard way once in his youth. But now, here was this woman, his captain - his fierce, bold, fearless, _human_ captain - and he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep idle fantasies of her from interrupting his thoughts at all hours of the day.

Then, the ship was hurtling them toward a mission with astronomically suicidal odds of survival, and he was finally standing in her cabin with shaking hands, heart pounding in his chest as he realized just how crazy this proposition had been. There was no way she was going to follow through with this, he had thought to himself. But then there she was, standing in front of him while he stammered incoherently like an idiot, and then she was reassuring him, reminding him this was something she wanted too. The way she had pressed her body into his, the way her tiny hands had cradled his face, the way she had touched her forehead to his and just let him hold her for a few moments - these were not the actions of a woman only interested in casual sex. And sure enough, the moments afterward had been anything but casual.

True to their original intent, their night together had only bolstered his determination to survive this crazy plan. And survive it they had, against ludicrously impossible odds. He would never forget the way his heart had skipped a beat when he saw her and her small infiltration squad sprinting out of the smoke as the station collapsed around them. The way she had been the last to make the leap into the airlock, how he had caught her hand and pulled her into the ship only moments before they accelerated away and the station detonated behind them. He could see her grinning triumphantly behind her visor, and all he had wanted to do in that moment was gather her into his arms and kiss her over and over again, this crazy, beautiful woman who repeatedly laughed in the face of the impossible and dared the universe to stand in her way.

When he received the news, the elation of their victory crumbled around him. Despite her reckless but courageous heroism, the Systems Alliance had court marshalled her, placed her under arrest, and relieved her from duty for something else she had done: crashing an asteroid into the the Alpha Relay, where over three hundred thousand batarian colonists had become collateral damage in a desperate attempt to keep the Reapers at bay for just a little while longer. It had been a necessary action on her part - one he knew would haunt her for a long time - but remorse alone wouldn't keep her out of a military prison; and he thought then that he would never see her again. Brief as their involvement may have been, her resolute goodbyes had torn at him, piercing claws of sadness, anger, fear, and desperate, silent cries of _but_ _wait_ ripping into his chest harder than any bullet ever could. They had stolen one last kiss behind a stack of crates in the shuttle bay before his departure back to Palaven, and the way her lips lingered on his mouth as her tears soaked into his collar had remained on his mind for a long time afterward.

Six months later, when the Reapers tore the skies asunder with nightmarish beams of fire and thunder, a gripping terror plagued his sleepless nights. Shepard. Commander. Captain, friend, partner. _Lover_. Tessa, with fire in her hair and lightning in her eyes, Tessa with the unwavering resolve of mountains and wit sharp enough to pierce any armor, _Tessa_ , who had somehow reached inside to the broken parts of him and stitched them back together, soft hands and softer lips breathing life into his body and mind and _fuck_. Palaven was burning, his people dying by the thousands, but the only worry consuming him was her - _Spirits, I beg you, let her survive this_ \- and the guilt swallowed him whole. And then, suddenly, she was there again in front of him, fixing the galaxy's disasters with orders and guns, no longer a prisoner but an icon, tasked with yet another impossible imperative. Did the word impossible even mean anything to her anymore? When he saw her on Menae, his breath caught in his throat. She had arrived there on military business, their interaction nothing but courteously civil; and he couldn't help but wonder then if their involvement in the past was officially over. _Please, Spirits, no._

Soon afterward, he had found himself back on the Normandy's main battery, recalibrating a Thanix cannon that had been dismally neglected during six months of Alliance retrofits. The familiar routine of it was a small comfort in a sea of uncertainty, but she had certainly been the last person he expected to see striding through the main battery doors. Yet there she was, suddenly, standing in front of him again, this time without the steely visage of professionalism she had worn on the ground. The way she took his hands into hers without hesitation, how she interrupted his stuttered, halting greeting with a passionate kiss, lips parting with an eager sense of urgency and relief, had melted away the last of his doubts like warm sunlight on a soft wax candle.

His thoughts drifted to the first time she told him she loved him. They were standing on a support beam at the top of the Presidium – a clearly marked restricted area – in a lighthearted "fuck you" to rules and regulations in the face of a war that threatened to destroy everything they had ever known. The view was exhilarating. They could see everything, the steady stream of traffic zipping beneath them, silvery architecture looming on either side, the picturesque fountains below dotting the scenery with rippling swatches of blue along the curvature of the ground.

He had brought her here to ask her about committing their union, although it would have mostly been a gesture of faith on their part for the moment, as he wasn't entirely sure how the legal aspect of that worked just yet given the enormous cultural gap. From what he had read of human traditions, their practice of marriage seemed close enough to the civil unions of his own people that the idea didn't seem entirely ludicrous. Or so he kept telling himself to calm his nerves, as part of him still felt monumentally silly proposing a union in the middle of so many larger concerns. And what if she balked at the idea? He certainly wouldn't have blamed her if she had refused; even if there weren't a war of apocalyptic proportions going on, there were still countless other people out there she could settle down with one day who were certainly more biologically compatible, whose families wouldn't outright reject her and whose food wouldn't instantly put her in the hospital. But the world was ending, and damn it all, _he had to know_.

The minute he asked the question, he had regretted it, cursing himself silently for even opening this door. She had watched the cars beneath them quietly for a few agonizing moments before responding. But when she turned to face him, it wasn't rejection he saw in her eyes. And her words had hung sweetly in the air like music: "I love you, Garrus Vakarian."

That was when he realized he hadn't planned ahead this far. Truth be told, a part of him hadn't really expected her to say yes, but there she stood in front of him, his impossible woman with a knack for the unpredictable, and any semblance of coherent thought had escaped him instantly. So he had done the only thing he could think to do: he caught her by the waist, leaned her against the hood of their car, and kissed her - his partner, his soulmate, his impossible woman - and the taste of her filled him with intoxicating fire.

And now they were here, he reflected, gently running his fingers through her hair as she slept, tucking flyaway strands behind her ear. Here, in his sister's apartment, in a Palaven slowly rising from its ashes, where the most pressing responsibility facing them was what they should wear to dinner later. (And oh, how she fretted. Dress blues? A simple dress? A Palaven style formal suit tailored to her human body? It was strangely comical to see her worrying over a choice that was, for once, free of dire consequence.) She stirred slightly, a peaceful smile on her face. He recalled his last moment with her in London, how she had ordered Joker to forcefully evacuate him off world when Harbinger's cannons had sliced their tank in half and a stray chunk of shrapnel had ripped straight through his armor and into his leg.

She hadn't pleaded with him or even begun to entertain his protests. She was all soldier then, save for the desperate look he caught in her eyes as two marines he didn't recognize helped him limp onto the Normandy's cargo ramp. That look, the one that said she might not see him again, the one that begged him to stay alive in her stead because now the chances of her making it out of this were all but over, had filled him with a dull, sickening dread. And then the ramp had closed as another deafening explosion rattled the frigate like a cheap cocktail shaker, and all hope of seeing her again had plummeted into his shredded boots as they shot away into the bullet-riddled sky.

But Spirits, she had survived. She was here, beside him, calm and peaceful and _safe_.

He rolled onto his side and cradled his body around hers, tucking an arm protectively around her waist. To say he was glad she was alive was the understatement of the millennium. He held her tightly, nuzzling his face into her hair and inhaling her scent, sweet and fragrant, like freshly cut fruit on a crisp autumn day. Her skin was soft despite the canvas of battle scars she carried, and her warmth and the closeness of her figure stirred something in him. She may not have been turian, but she was radiant, this impossible woman - and she was his.

She tilted her head back slightly and sleepily planted a kiss on his chin. "Should I be worried about that sunlight since I don't have those fancy metals in my skin you people find so attractive?" she teased, pulling the sheet over her head with an exaggerated gesture.

"I don't think any amount of fancy metals in your skin could make you any more stunning," he said, pulling the sheet back from her face just enough to return her kiss by planting a similarly chaste one on her nose.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the grin blossoming on her face. "You are so cheesy."

He wrapped his arms around her and nipped at her ear, making her squeak in surprise. "And you love it."

She responded by rolling over to face him, her hand trailing down his stomach and slipping between his legs. "Maybe I do," she whispered, lips curving into a cheeky smile. He could feel his body responding to her touch as her fingers caressed him teasingly.

He let out a low growl and rolled on top of her, kicking the sheet out of the way with his feet. The sparkle in her eyes drove him wild, as did the way she gasped and squirmed as he blazed a trail of kisses from her chin, down her neck, and across her collarbone. He gathered one of her pale breasts in his hand, her nipple hard against his palm, and he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath when he twisted it gently between his fingers.

Her mouth found his, her soft lips pressing into his face with magnified fervor, her arms wrapping around his torso and pulling his body against hers. Her feet curled around his legs, her right foot finding the crook of the cartilage filament behind his knee. He reached between their bodies and delicately ran a finger along her inner thigh. She arched against him and squirmed in response, her fingernails digging desperately into the plating on his back.

His overwhelming need for her was magnified by her sighs. He parted her gently, the feeling of her moisture on his hand only increasing his desire for her as he slipped a finger inside her. Her breath quickened with his pace, and soon she was gripping the mattress with hands tightly balled around the fabric. She whimpered softly in protest when he withdrew his hand, but he silenced her with another kiss, this one rougher and more primal, and her response was filled with a similar sense of carnal need.

She groaned and gripped his shoulders tightly as he finally slid into her. He gathered her against him with one arm cradled around her shoulders, her face buried in his neck where the edge of his carapace met his collarbone. He could feel his own heartbeat racing as their bodies fell into a rhythm and everything around him disappeared but her - his breathtaking and exhilarating impossible woman.

Then, her grip on his shoulders tightened, and he felt her clench around him, crying out softly in climax. The pressure around his member and the sweet sigh of her voice in his ear pushed him over the edge, and he clung to her tightly as he shuddered against her body, his forehead resting against her hair. They remained entangled together for a few moments afterward, only their erratic breathing punctuating the stillness.

He finally broke the silence, pulling away from her face and delicately tracing the curvature of her jaw. "Tess," he murmured softly. "I love you." The admittance came with an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability he hadn't felt in a long time.

She leaned in and kissed him deeply. When she pulled back, she met his eyes with hers, emerald irises a bottomless ocean of unreadable emotions. For a brief moment, despite her kiss, he was worried had said the wrong thing, that she would admonish him for his words, but she simply ran her thumb tenderly across the origin markings on his face.

"I love you too," she whispered finally, touching her forehead to his, cradling his face in her hands.

He held her closely and kissed her again, marveling at the way her body fit so snugly against his despite the protests of basic biology. As unlikely a pair as they were, he was hers, as she was his - his partner, his mate, his beautiful impossible woman - and the taste of her filled him with intoxicating fire.

 


End file.
